


Skating Lessons

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 17:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16937232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Noctis had been skating on the festival rinks since he was small, Nyx never set foot on ice for fun.





	Skating Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Also over at my [Dreamwidth](https://aithilin.dreamwidth.org/14624.html) too.

Insomnia was firmly in the icy grip of winter when the new structures went up. Nearly every park and festival ground received them— the constructions of flimsy ply wood barely reinforced to stay upright, the flooring an insulated platform raised barely six inches above the frozen grass. When the rinks were flooded and the seats raised, the mood had changed in the city. Community centres and arenas opened their doors and expanded their hours to accommodate shows and classes, the neighbourhood rinks flooded with everyone from the elderly out on romantic ventures together and young families teaching their children that falling was okay. 

The rinks were just the first sign of the season. 

The lights were next— the glittering stings of colours netted over every makeshift rink and flooded, concreted community centre floor. The nicer neighbourhoods, where the wealthy Lucians favoured touches of whimsy, had lights mapped out like stars and constellations, or projections and sound systems meant to summon audiences and skaters alike. 

And they were all a poor imitation for the royal rink. The crowning glory of hospitality at the foot of the Citadel, where the open plaza would be filled with ice festival events and attractions. The rink was the largest in the kingdom (save for portions of wetlands in Duscae that might freeze, or the long strips of sheltered river running through the city that everyone forgot about) with a stage for announcement and shows and lights that could be turned or tinted for any occasion. It would be the draw for the season, until the ice sculptures went up, or the snow castles were sculpted. Until the avenues were lined with stalls of games and steaming winter foods, and the public entrance to the Citadel was flooded with festive decorations and visitors, the rink would summon the season and indicate when winter had officially started. 

It was a perk of his station that Noctis had unfettered access to the rink. 

When he was young, it was on his front door. And while he staggered across the ice with uncertain balance, Ignis soared and moved with the smallest of confident smirks. He learnt to race around the annual stretch of manufactured ice, tracing the royal crest as he held on to Ignis’ gloved hands with his own in soft mittens. He raced Gladio across the length of it, and learnt to catch himself to stop without needing to crash into a barrier or friend— though that was far more fun at times. 

When the rink went up each year, Noctis felt like he was ten years old again. 

Beneath the lights and glow of the towering Citadel, closed for the night, he remembered his father edging his way onto the ice with him. Hand on his shoulder and slow movements while Clarus huffed and rolled his eyes at the pace. 

Noctis had remembered falling for the ruse when he was young, his own confidence bolstered by teaching his father the simple, steady movements. 

He didn’t have the heart to be offended when the game was up and his father sped across the ice after his Shield— years before the stiffness of joints and drain of magic forced him to the paces he once pretended at. Instead they raced, and had the space to themselves, their friends, the small family spared the public eye for a few short nights before the rink was opened to everyone in the kingdom who wished to visit it. 

“You’re bad at this,” Noctis teased now, hands out as he moved backwards around the royal crest painted on the base below the ice. 

“And I suppose you’re always perfect,” Nyx bit back through his smirk, hands tight in Noctis’. 

“Always, hero.”

It was slow, and steady, and Nyx had stopped wobbling quickly once he found his balance. For Noctis, it was like stepping back into the fond memories of his childhood, Nyx’s hand on his shoulder before they changed course and Noctis drew them away from the barriers. Now they moved, face to face, with Noctis taking his easy movements in reverse beneath the shining, festive lights. In a few days the rink would be open to visitors, to the kingdom to come and enjoy, while the severity of the Citadel was eased beneath the lights and music. 

Nyx had told him that he had never skated before— that the ice on the rivers in Galahd Canyon was never thick enough to be safe, that it wasn’t a thing for arenas outside of larger cities geared towards tourists before the Nifs stepped in. That little towns had their own ways to celebrate winter, and skating was not one that really anchored itself in his hometown that he could remember. 

Noctis had agreed to the lessons before he really thought out the plan. 

He was out of practice and lacked Ignis’ confidence and grace. He didn’t have Gladio’s boundless bravery or Prompto’s joy at new things. He didn’t have the confidence to really teach, to do more than get Nyx balanced and moving, and try to lead by example. 

But he liked this, pulling Nyx along across the empty rink, tracing the lines of the Lucian crest while Nyx held on and smiled. He liked the quiet and the peace, and the easy, methodical movements between them. “You’re getting better, hero.”

“Yeah, well, if anyone asks, this is a training exercise.”

“No one is going to ask.”

“Someone might.”

“We can just call it a date.”

“It’s only a date if you let me buy you a hot chocolate.”

“Deal.”


End file.
